


Blending In

by little mouse (lcwilkie)



Category: The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lcwilkie/pseuds/little%20mouse
Summary: ART thinks Murderbot needs to blend in with humans better while acting as an augmented security consultant. It offers a way to do so. Just some cute fluff between the two.
Relationships: Asshole Research Transport & Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	Blending In

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the amazing zahnie for beta reading this, and helping me with the title :)

_I have a solution,_ ART sent into our private feed.

_A solution for what problem?_ I sent back, jolted out of the new serial I’d started. ART had decided it didn’t want to watch this one, based on some serial killer. Even being more exposed to fiction, it still got upset when too many humans died. And, of course, that meant it had fucked off to do other things with it’s processing power, including, apparently, solving a problem. I frantically searched my memory archives to see if it was a problem I’d agreed to help with. ART had gotten good at sliding requests in when I was distracted or doing so incredibly subtly, so that I wouldn’t even know I’d agreed to something until I refused and it played back a recording of my agreement. Time stamped, of course, so I could check my own logs and confirm that yes, I had actually said that.

_For the Murderbot-needing-to-blend-in-with-humans-better problem._

_What?_ Now I was really confused. _I’ve been blending in just fine as an augmented human! Sure, some people have caught on that it may be more than that, but I’m not exactly shouting anything from the rooftops!_

_In the short term, yes. But the longest you have associated with a single group of humans – besides your crew on Preservation – has been forty-seven days, three hours, and twelve minutes. And during that time they began to suspect something._

“What’s your point?” I asked out loud. Amena had said something about both ART and I getting defensive when we thought we’d done something wrong or were being scolded, and attributed my need to vocalize during those moments (and others, really, whenever I spoke aloud without needing to) rather than use the feed as a way of distancing myself emotionally from the situation. I tried really hard not to think about that every time I did it, and had deleted the file from my inorganic memory, but organic tissue apparently likes to remind you of unpleasant experiences as often as possible. I may have mentioned this before, but I really hate emotions. Being confronted with my own was not in my top-ten list of fun things. It wasn’t even in the top hundred. (Though not by much. It was currently sitting at position 103, if you really wanted to know. The only reason it wasn’t lower is because, well, emotions meant I had a crew. And ART. And having those was pretty great.)

_This next job you have,_ ART continued. _You will be spending approximately six months with the same humans who are expecting an augmented human consultant._

“So I’ll just tweak my code as needed. It’ll be fine.”

_Doubtful. These humans are going to be living on a terraforming facility. They will expect you to live there for the six months as well. Humans, even augmented humans, do not generally live anywhere that they intend to make a home without bringing personal belongings with them._

ART highlighted this statement by sending me a video of all the recent humans we’d had on board, and all the random junk they brought with them. ART had helpfully highlighted each of these items. It was a continuing battle to convince it that I wasn’t completely useless as figuring things out on my own even though it had much higher processing space than I did.

The small humans I understood bringing blankets or stuffed animals or whatever. It was a security thing. I could relate; I still missed my armor. And visor. And for some of the adults, bringing pictures of families made sense. But the other stuff, the dangly jewelry, the beat up old flashlights, tattered sweatshirts from a partner or partners back on the their home planet, that didn’t make any sense to me. It just got in the way, and if you had to leave in a hurry, you couldn’t exactly always grab it. I carried a backpack, but that mostly had drones and other various security-related items in it.

“Are you saying I need…. _things?”_ I asked ART. “What the hell am I supposed to do with things? I have a hard enough time keeping track of my face and body language, let alone what the hell my hands are doing with _things!_ ”

_It will help,_ ART insisted.

I stopped talking. It wasn’t wrong, per se. But still. It was just like ART to find a problem, and apparently come up with a solution, without involving me. Even when I was the problem. I was mad. And ART could tell because it only took about a minute and a half before it pinged me in the feed again, wordlessly. Just using an emoticon, which was a habit it had picked up from some of the adolescent humans. I had to admit, it was pretty fun to send them. And memes. But I wanted to stay mad, not have fun with silly faces.

_I just want to help,_ ART said.

“Help with what? Why do you care if I fit in? You won’t even be on the surface!”

_But I will be in contact with you. Your levels of anxiety, tension, and discomfort increase when you feel that you are not blending in well._

I just sat quietly again. Less mad, this time, cause yeah, I could read between those lines, thanks, and what ART was actually saying here was “I care about you and want you to feel safe.” I was still unused to processing that.

_Would you like to hear the solution?_

_Sure,_ I sent back. I wasn’t going to be upset with it. I may not know how to handle my own emotions, but I was getting better at dealing with other people’s. (And yes, let’s ignore that fact that technically ART wasn’t a person, but humanity hasn’t exactly been welcoming with artificial intelligences actually, you know, being intelligent. So there wasn’t really a proper turn of phrase.) It was nervous, because ART didn’t want to hurt me and I didn’t want to hurt it. Physically, that just meant not using my energy weapons in the hallway, or ART not blasting me with code. But emotionally, it was a lot more complicated. Have I mentioned I hate emotions?

_I think just one or two “things” will be needed. After all, you are not here permanently. And not even until the terraforming is complete. So only a few items “from home” will be needed to assist with the deception._

_You’re rambling, ART. What’s the solution?_

It was silent for seven seconds. That’s a long time for ART. _Coffee._

_Coffee? Thanks, but I really don’t want to have to pretend to use the bathroom all the time ART, or devote the lung space to liquid. It’s not comfortable sloshing around._

_I should be more clear. Sim-coffee. It will be an illusion sustained via your control of the vessel containing it, thereby allowing you to drink like a human, and have a personalized item like a human._ It sent another video clip, this one showing a wide array of humans from various trips and how possessive they’d gotten over a specific mug. It even included a short clip of me breaking up a fight about that same issue.

I thought about it. _It’s not a terrible idea,_ I said. Clearly, coffee cups were vitally important to humans, for reasons unknown. Some had weird sayings (“Kiss me, I’m Irish,” Don’t Talk to Me Till I’ve Had My Coffee,” “Good Morning, Sunshine!”), others had pictures (family members, cats, planets, logos), and others were just plain mugs, but with a very specific chip in the rim that was somehow sacred to certain humans.

_Good. I’ve already set the relevant program into a vessel for you,_ ART sent back. It sounded smug, as it always did when it won an argument (which was most of them. ART sounded smug a lot of the time).

_Hey now, if I’m supposed to be possessive over a coffee cup, don’t I at least get a say in what it looks like?_

_I thought it would be apt to base it on other mugs humans use, but personalize it to you. To sell the illusion._

ART forced open the door to my room, which I hated, but it was only to allow a small carrier bot in. It had a white mug dangling from one arm. I grabbed it as it was offered out to me, and investigated. My sensors clearly showed the computer controlling the simulation was in the bottom, which made sense. Handles could get broken off pretty easily. I still wasn’t going to accept the download to sync the simulation software to my systems that ART was pushing at me through the feed till I’d looked the whole thing over though.

I flipped the mug around to read the writing on the side. **Don’t talk to me until I’ve watched my media** it said.

I knew ART was watching me through it’s cameras, and I really had no idea what my face was doing. This was certainly personalized to me, and combined with the fact that ART gave me it to help me feel better, it was a lot to process.

_If you don’t like it, it can be altered as needed,_ ART said fifty-six seconds later, after I had failed to say anything.

“It’s fine,” I said. Out loud again. And I really had no idea what my voice was doing, either. “Um. It’s great. Thanks.”

I hesitated, then sent a little emoticon into the feed as well. I immediately dropped my head down so ART couldn’t see my face. “I’m going back to my show now,” I said, hoping it got the message.

I felt ART withdraw, again with the smugness. And what felt like happiness. Before I backburned the channel, and I mean put it way at the back, I was nowhere close to being able to deal with all this, I saw ART repeat my emoticon back at me.

<3

<3

Still holding the coffee mug – _my_ coffee mug – I saved that part of the conversation to permanent storage.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! So! Another little one-shot of these two, because Murderbot is adorable. Even if it would hate being called that. Written pretty quickly, so let me know if I missed any glaring spelling errors.


End file.
